


Masquerade

by rationalbookworm



Series: Lost And Found [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Irene and Caitlyn are friends now, Lost And Found Series, Masquerade, Sorry Not Sorry, finally found her, it gets complicated - Freeform, lost her again, murder case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rationalbookworm/pseuds/rationalbookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murderer is hiding in a sea of masks. Unfortunately so is someone else. The question is, will Sherlock let the murderer go free to find his lost love? Or can he track down both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This and the story following (which is not actually done yet) are really the meat of the story. This one especially was equal parts fun and frustrating to write, but I think it came out pretty...not great but decent all things considered. Hopefully I can work on the last part soon.
> 
> Until then, enjoy!

The fancy dress party was officially a private party, only the members of the country club allowed within its hallowed halls. That, of course, would never stop Sherlock Holmes from entering. He was on a case, something to keep his mind off of the text he’d gotten weeks ago. Not that it was working. As big as his mind was, it stubbornly stuck to the ten words followed by _her_ initials. Her _married_ initials at that. She had never used that those except when she was feeling particularly romantic. So about once a year, at most.

**Happy New Year. I’ll see you soon. All my love, CMH**

It was so simple, and yet those words had spun his entire world around. His past, the one thing that haunted him, hovered over him like a dark cloud, and come back as quietly as a whisper. And it didn’t hurt. He was anxious, excited, eager. A myriad of words could describe how he felt since New Year’s, but all the pain, the gaping hole that had ripped through his chest so many years ago, was finally gone. He could finally breathe again.

But now he couldn’t work, couldn’t concentrate. He was making stupid mistakes that had Anderson laughing at him openly in public. Lestrade was eyeing him with caution, clearly looking for signs that he was using again. John was the only one with sympathy. More than once in the last few days, the ex-army doctor had told off Anderson, redirected Lestrade’s attention, and offered silent support, all while helping to keep the text a secret. He was a far better friend than Sherlock deserved and he had never been more grateful to have him.

He shook his head slightly, drawing his focus back to the task at hand. He had been called to America once more on a case, this time in upstate New York where socialites were being murdered from within the country club. It had all been hushed as much as possible, but the police had yet to even find a suspect. Anderson, who had heard about the case from an old college friend, and Lestrade, who was currently separated from his wife and in need of some time away from England, had tagged along, if only to keep an eye on Sherlock. He sighed in exasperation as he spotted them in the milling crowd. To blend in they had all dawned masks and suits, but Anderson especially looked out of place, the DI not far behind. Both men stood in the corner of the room, eyes constantly scanning the area through their colorful masks. John was much more at ease, gliding through the crowds with smiles and idle chitchat while his keen eye kept a sharp lookout for any suspicious activity.

Not that there was any, unfortunately. It had been three hours since the club opened and not even a single peep had been heard from the murderer. He had been so sure the man would choose tonight, when the club was at its fullest, to pick another victim. They hadn’t found any connection between the three previous except for this club being the sight of the murder, and Sherlock knew that it was only a matter of time before something else cropped up. Sure enough, his mobile buzzed lightly in his pocket, making him duck behind a billowy curtain for cover. He slipped it out and checked the e-mail he had just received, frowning at the contents. The victims did have a connection. One not even _Sherlock_ had noticed.

Before he could brood over the fact for too long, his phone buzzed again as a text appeared on screen.

**I see you.**

The number was unfamiliar, making his frown deepen. He glanced up, scanning the area for someone looking at him. His mobile buzzed again in his hand.

**Why are you hiding?**

He pursed his lips as he considered his options, then answered anyway.

**I’m not. – SH**

**Yes you are.**

The answer was immeidiate, almost coming before he could send the text, as if the person could predict what he was about to say.

**John? What is this number? – SH**

**Not John.**

He frowned. Who else would know him so well? He froze, thumbs hovering over the key pad as another option entered his mind. But she couldn’t possibly be here. Could she? Why now? Why here? Only one way to find out.

**Katie?**

**Told you I’d see you soon.**

He chuckled humorlessly, his eyes inexplicably filling with tears as he stared down at his phone. His heart felt lighter than it had in years. She was back! She was here! His head snapped back up, twisting this way and that to try to get a glimpse of her as he typed out a new message.

**Where are you?**

**You tell me.**

He grinned. This was familiar, something they had always secretly did when meeting somewhere crowded. It was a game to them, something private that only they knew about. This, more than anything, proved this was exactly who she claimed to be.

**Challenge Accepted. – SH**

**I’m waiting. – CMH**

His heart leapt at the initials she was still using, making his grin widen. The murderer completely slipped his mind as he pushed into the crowd, eyes darting from woman to woman, looking for one in particular. In the corner of his eye he saw John across the room, following his determined movements with interest. The doctor probably thought he had caught a clue for the murder, but that was the last thing Sherlock was worried about at the moment. 


	2. Chapter 2

Wrong skin tone. Wrong height. Wrong bone structure. Wrong hair color. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. Every woman he set eyes on was wrong. The masks complicated things but he knew Kate's mind, body, and soul. He should be able to pick her out of crowd easily. There was a time when he had been able to do just that. Time had taken more from him than he'd thought.

John had noticed his more determined stride through the crowd and had taken that as Sherlock spotting the killer. Now the shorter man was tracking him though he at least had the decency to stay in place amongst the socialites and let Sherlock alone. John had long discovered that sometimes it was best to leave the Consulting Detective to himself while on a case. Sherlock had never been more grateful for that.

A flash of crimson in the mostly dull colored crowd caught his attention from the corner of his eye, drawing him to the open balcony doors across the room. He slipped between couples and businessmen, his eyes trained on the French doors and swirling silk drapes. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he spared a second to read the incoming text.

**Do you have him? – GL**

He fired off a reply, making sure he wouldn't be disturbed, and caught John's questioning gaze. Sherlock shook his head once and darted a glance towards the Detective Inspector, signaling his blogger to stay with Lestrade. John quirked a brow but nodded in understanding and moved back towards the other Englishmen.

That taken care of, Sherlock turned back to the balcony as icy air began to drift in, raising goosebumps along the bare skin of everyone within reach. Slowly he inched his way past the billowing drape, raising one hand to hold it off as he stepped closer. The silk ran smoothly through his fingers until it fell away and allowed the breeze to wrap it around him like a shroud. Only then did he realize he had stood frozen in one spot, his brain grinding to a halt in the way only _she_ could cause. His breath hitched as he forced himself to catalog everything he could, branding this moment into his memory forever.

Her back was facing him, her head tilted up to look at the night sky, stars just barely managing to peek through. Her sleeveless red gown hugged her torso snugly, flaring out at her hips and flowing gently to the ground. Gold embroidered the bodice and her arms were covered in dark gold elbow length gloves. Black and gold feathers peeked out around her head swaying gently in the breeze. More than likely, they were attached to her mask. Her copper colored tresses were curled and pinned up messily, a few locks escaping to brush against her bare shoulders. The dress stopped about halfway up her back, exposing a large expanse of creamy skin. The only blemish was the familiar collection of freckles at the top of her spine just below the nape of her neck.

She shifted, finally sensing his presence, and looked over her shoulder. The gold half mask hardly hid her identity. Her whiskey colored eyes sparkled and her full pink lips parted on a sigh when their gazes locked.

“Katie,” his voice was strangled, tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

She smiled weakly, “Hello, sweetie.”

* * *

John shifted from foot to foot, eyes locked on to where Sherlock had disappeared out onto the balcony. If that idiot wasn't back in five more minutes, he was going out there and dragging him back in, whether he liked it or not.

Well, unless he was currently with their latest killer, that is. Then John would help catch the bastard before dragging Sherlock away. As always. He sighed and rubbed at his temple, willing the growing headache away. He was getting too old for this.

“What is he doing?” Anderson sneered, focusing John’s attention once more.

“No idea,” Lestrade shrugged. The DI was too used to Sherlock’s oddities to feel too concerned.

John glanced at his watch and sighed. Five minutes weren’t up yet, but he really couldn’t stand just sitting on the sidelines. Never could. That’s how he got roped into chasing after Sherlock in the first place.

“I’ll go check on him.”

He didn’t glance back at his companions as he weaved through the crowd to where he’d last seen the freakishly tall man. Stepping around the gaudy curtains, he managed to find his flat mate, only to freeze when he realized he wasn’t alone. Sherlock stood at the railing beside a woman in a red gown. John had never met Kaitlyn before, but he knew without a doubt that that was who he was seeing. If the unique color hair didn’t give her away, then the look of amazement and love – a look he’d never seen on his friend’s face before – on Sherlock’s face did.

Sherlock’s long fingers were skimming over the woman’s arms, barely touching as if she were a mirage that would disappear the moment he tried to make contact. She was smiling adoringly up at him, her eyes tearing up behind her mask as she spoke in a voice too soft for John to catch.

John made to step back into the party, not wanting to interrupt what was clearly a private moment. As he moved, Kate’s eyes darted to him and she flashed him a small smile before returning her gaze to the man in front of her almost desperately. Whatever the reason for her disappearance, she was obviously just as affected by their separation as Sherlock had been all these years. John could only hope that they wouldn’t have to go through something like that again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's a murder scene at the end of this chapter, that could maybe, kind of warrant a warning, but I don't think it's that bad. If anyone thinks I should put a warning on the fic for that let me know and I'll change it.

He was across the balcony to her side in half a second, hands reaching for her but not quite touching. She smiled, eyes watering but understanding as she gazed up at him. She was just as he remembered, his Caitlyn. She barely reached his chest, forcing her to tilt her head back almost painfully to look in his eyes. Her pale skin almost glowed in the dim outdoor lighting, making her look almost like a mystical creature. Sherlock fought the urge to blink, irrationally worried she would disappear on the mist slowly settling in in the split second he looked away.

“Sherlock,” she breathed, the puff of air warm where it hit his exposed skin.

“How…Why…” it wasn’t the first time she had made him speechless and he doubted it would be the last. The thought almost made him smile at the same time tears gathered in his eyes.

Her eyes flickered away, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips before she gazed back up at him. One gloved hand reached up to cup his cheek, “It’s a long story.” Her accent, steadily becoming more British before her disappearance, was startlingly American once more, though the country twang was still well hidden. “One I can’t really get into right now.”

Unable to fight his instincts any longer, his eyes slipped closed as he nuzzled into her palm. His hand slid over hers, holding it in place. The hurricane of thoughts and deductions that constantly swirled around his mind settled into a slow trickle, most focused on the woman in front of him. It was always this way with her. Her presence alone could calm him no matter the circumstances.

“Sherlock,” her voice trembled slightly. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes snapped open, locking with hers. The honey brown depths were obscured by tears as her lips trembled. Without conscious thought, he reached out and yanked her forward into the protective circle of his arms. Her own arms wrapped around his middle, her face buried in his chest as much as the mask allowed. He held her as tightly as possible, not willing to let her go ever again. One hand reached up and tangled in her curls, dislodging a few pins along the way. He really couldn’t have cared less.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning down to bury his face in her hair with a sad smile. She really was ridiculously shorter than him. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does! This is all my fault!”

He tensed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what she was talking about. Part of him, the puzzle-solver, would never be happy without finding out what exactly had taken her away from him. But another part, the part that was just grateful to be able to hold her once more, didn’t want to have anything to ruin this moment. It could wait, he told himself, though the lump of fear slowly forming in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.

“Caitlyn,” he sighed. “Katie. Please. What’s wrong?”

She sniffled and pulled back far enough to look at him, “I…I…”

He stared down at her, once more marveling that someone so beautiful and wonderful could want someone like him. True, she had known him her whole life, had grown up with him. But that didn’t stop him from being who he was. The high-functioning sociopath. At least, as far as anyone outside of the immediate family (including John and Mary) knew.

With a sigh, he moved further out of their embrace, ignoring the slightly hurt expression on Kate’s face in favor of bending down and sweeping the feet out from under her.

She laughed weakly, “Sherlock! Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t answer but to smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her head into his shoulder. A chaise sat, half-hidden in the corner of the balcony, away from any prying eyes. He settled there, placing Caitlyn on his lap as he leaned back on the velvet cushions. She sighed as she curled up, her ear pressed to his chest to listen to his heart. He remembered how she used to do that when they were children after a nightmare. She’d climb into his bed and curl up next to him, ear to his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat lulling her back into peaceful dreams.

“Now,” he murmured when she had fully calmed. “Tell me everything.”

* * *

Peter Hollis stumbled into the empty office while the dark haired vixen continued to attack his neck, determined to distract him as he attempted to steal away from the party. He grinned as the lock clicked into place behind him and he gathered his lovely new companion to the couch against the back wall. He always loved these masquerades the club threw. Copious amounts of alcohol plus the anonymity the masks gave them always equaled one or two women more them happy to be secreted away to some dark corner for some fun. It made them feel dangerous and wild. Perfect for a guy like him to take advantage of.

“C’mere,” the woman slurred, pushing him down onto the supple leather as she straddled him, hitching up her long tight skirt in the process. She grinned a predatory smile as she leaned forward, her assets almost spilling from the corset-like top. His hands found their place on her slim hips, pulling her down harshly on his growing interest. She giggled cutely and began to rock against him, making him groan and tilt his head back in pleasure while his eyes fell shut.

The slow sound of a knife being unsheathed brought him harshly back to reality. His eyes snapped open too late as cold metal pressed against his exposed neck harshly. His mouth opened to let out a scream, but was quickly covered by the woman’s glove covered hand.

“Shh,” she soothed a second before the blade slit Peter Hollis’ throat from ear to ear.


	4. Chapter 4

Shivering slightly in the early February wind, Kate walked quickly down the steps of the school library, her heels clacking loudly in the still twilight. Her bag slapped against her hip with every step as she made her way down the street that led to her London home. Part of her knew she should probably call Mr. Holmes or even Mycroft for a ride so she wasn't walking by herself in the dark, but she really couldn't be bothered. She had walked this path home too many times to get lost or feel frightened.

But there was the matter of her being exceptionally late for dinner. Sherlock was no doubt worried sick by now. She really wouldn’t blame him. Normally she was a bit of a Time Nazi, especially when it concerned one of their dinner dates, but with the new year brought on another round of Professors trying to see if she could live up to the Holmes reputation. The work load was almost unbearable if it weren’t for the fact that she _was_ an honorary Holmes and could keep up just fine with the boys, thank you very much.

It still didn’t change the fact that she was very late and it was getting very dark very fast.

She huffed out an annoyed breath as she turned onto one of the main streets leading to and from the school and found it clogged with not only vehicles, but pedestrians as well. People were already jostling her out of the way though she stood at the fringe of the heavy traffic, not yet making her way into the noisy throng of people. Trying to maneuver through the crowd would only make her even later than she already was, something she desperately wanted to avoid. However, if she began thinking like a certain Holmes…

Her eyes traveled away from the main road toward a familiar, though exceedingly darker, side alley. Sherlock had all of London mapped out in his head, including multiple shortcuts to avoid situations like she now faced. The one passing to and from school she had taken on multiple occasions, but never when the sun had set. The path led over quite a few rooftops, requiring her to leap over large gaps. The idea of attempting that in the dark wasn’t very comforting, but she would travel a lot faster.

Kate looked back at the brightly lit main road, stuffed with warm agitated bodies, trying to get where they were going and not caring who they had to shove to get there, and back to the almost too quiet alley where not even a flicker of light could be seen. It was dangerous and stupid. Then again, she was currently engaged to Sherlock Holmes. Dangerous and stupid practically came in the job title.

“Fuck it,” she muttered to herself as she slipped away from the main thoroughfare.

The shadows enveloped her, blanketing her in silence, and she had to blink multiple times until her eyes adjusted. When she could see relatively well, she shuffled over to the dumpster pushed into the back corner, wrinkling her nose at the stench of molding Chinese food from the restaurant that dumped their leftovers here, booze from the bar on the other side, piss (probably from some homeless person), and vomit. Bracing her hands on the closed lid, Kate pushed herself up until she stood on the plastic covering.

“Hey!” a male voice startled her, almost making her loose her balance. “Who’s out there?”

A flashlight clicked on and she raised her hand to shield her eyes.

“Oh,” the light moved down and Kate finally got a good look at the bartender stepping out of the back door to his establishment. “Hello, Caitlyn.”

“Mr. Rochester,” she nodded with a smile. The man had caught her and Sherlock climbing down from his roof one day as they used the shortcut and had found it hilarious. Since then he’d been one of the few happy enough to allow them to keep using it, unlike so many other business owners who would scowl and threaten to call the police.

“What’re you doin’ here so late?” he drawled, moving closer to lean his crossed arms on the hood of the dumpster. He grinned up at her, showing off his missing front tooth he’d lost during a bar brawl many years ago.

She crouched down to be more at eye level with him, “I was studying and lost track of time. I thought it’d be faster to get home this way.”

“At this time?” his brow furrowed, barely visible in the dim light. “Ain’t it a bit dangerous to be runnin’ around up there by yourself at night? You might get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “But if you could do me a favor…”

“Sure,” he grinned wider, dimples appearing in his chubby cheeks. “Anythin’ for a damsel in distress.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “Mind calling Sherlock for me? I left my phone at home, and I know he’s probably worried.”

“No problem,” he nodded once and backed away, making a shooing motion at her. “You go. I’ll call him.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rochester. See you later.”

As the slightly rotund man made his way back inside, Kate stood up carefully and reached up to pull down the rickety old fire escape no one ever used anymore. Mr. Rochester didn’t use the upstairs floors, so the windows were sealed. Even if someone had wandered up there for whatever reason, they wouldn’t be able to get out this way. However, it made a great way to get to the roof. From there, Caitlyn headed to the back of the building where a makeshift bridge formed out of sturdy planks of wood found at a construction site years ago allowed her to pass over the back alley to the next building.

She continued on through the twists and turns of the mazelike shortcut until she climbed down another fire escape a block away from the apartment Sherlock used when he was visiting from University. Up until a few months ago, she hadn’t been allowed to stay alone there with Sherlock, but after they got engaged, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had decided they were responsible enough to have time to themselves. Caitlyn grinned blissfully as she twirled the beautiful diamond ring around her left ring finger. They would wait until they were both out of University to get married, but she was happy just to have this. Everything was perfect just the way it was.

Just as she was about to turn the corner, heading out of the alley to a semi-lit street (the streetlamps tended to burn out quickly in this neighborhood), she heard a loud thump and a groan of pain. She waited, listening carefully for any sound. A quiet whimper floated over on the wind, but nothing more. Frowning, she turned back the way she came, her heart beating erratically. This was yet another stupid and dangerous thing to do tonight. Far more dangerous and stupid than traveling over roofs on her own. But she couldn’t help it. Sherlock may not emotionally identify with many people, but Caitlyn had enough compassion for the both of them. She couldn’t just walk away if someone were hurt.

“Hello?” she called out quietly, listening as a rustling noise suddenly stopped. “Is anyone there?”

A flickering light stood at the far back of the alley. Someone, probably the homeless, had lit a fire in a metal trash can to keep warm. Shadows danced across the grimy brick wall behind it, revealing that there was in fact someone there.

“Are you alright?” she called again.

Suddenly a shadow detached itself, followed by the hulking mass of a very large man. Another man, considerably less smaller but no less threatening, was close on his heels. The two men stopped after a few steps, staring at her. She couldn’t make out their faces with the light at their backs, but she had the feeling that she was being glared at. She swallowed thickly around a lump in her throat and took a tentative step back. She raised her hands slowly, palms forward, to show she was no threat as she stumbled back another step.

“Run,” a gasping, fragile voice called from the shadows. “Get…run…”

The voice faded into a coughing fit and the smaller man turned to look at the speaker, making his face visible in the flickering light. He reached in the inside pocket of his expensive looking, fitted suit jacket and pulled out what Caitlyn immediately recognized as a pistol. She froze in shock and terror as the man fired off two staccato shots. She couldn’t even work up enough air to scream. Her feet seemed glued to the ground as the man turned back to her with a sniff of disdain.

“Grab her,” his posh voice commanded.

The larger man was on her before her brain could catch up with the events unfolding before her wide eyes. One sweaty, meaty hand grabbed the back of her neck, squeezing so hard she arched, trying to get away from the pain, while the other circled her upper arm. She had no doubt there’d be a bruise by morning.

The smaller man casually walked toward them, brushing imaginary lint off his jacket as he tucked his gun away. He stopped a foot away from her and leaned forward, his face hovering inches from hers. She whimpered, only just realizing tears (and probably a good amount of snot) were pouring down her face as she tried to hold back her sobs. There was no doubt in her mind. This was the night she was going to die. She prayed Sherlock would forgive her for her stupidity and wished she could at least say goodbye.

The man hardly moved as she flinched when loud sirens pierced through the silence around them. He sighed, straightening from his bent position. He eyes her with utter disgust and loathing.

“Boss?” the man holding her shifted, giving her the impression that he was glancing around worriedly as the police drew nearer.

Suddenly the smaller man, the boss, fisted her hair, making her cry out as he yanked her out of the big man’s grasp. His face was once again inches from hers as he snarled at her, “You will tell no one. If I hear so much as a peep from you, I will kill you, your family, your friends, every person you have _ever_ loved. I will cut the heart out of you and burn you alive. Understood?”

She trembled in fear, managing a nod just as he tossed her aside. She collapsed to the ground in a mass of tears and fear. When she finally succeeded in lifting her head, both men were gone.


	5. Chapter 5

“I ran,” she whispered into his shoulder, unable to look him in the eye. It had been so long. She had never given up hope that she could one day be with him again, but it had almost seemed like a dream when he showed up tonight. After finally admitting what had happened, she was afraid he would look at her differently. Especially with what she had to tell him next. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block out the world for just a little while longer.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you. I was so afraid he’d find me again and that he’d hurt you and Mycroft and…I just couldn’t let that happen. So I ran. I tried to hide. But he found me.”

He gripped her tighter as she shuddered at the memory, but continued to stay silent. Her hands cramped from their white-knuckled grip on his jacket. What happened all those years ago was so damning. How could he still love her after this?

“He found me while I was in Ireland. I’d planned to just keep traveling. To never stop moving. He didn’t even mean to find me!” she let out a humorless chuckle. “He was chasing after someone else when he stumbled across me working in a shop for a few extra coins. He tried to drag me into his little game, his web of criminals, and I…I couldn’t fight him. Please don’t hate me!”

Sherlock began to rock her like a child as she began to sob once more. He pressed kisses to her hair, her wet cheeks, her forehead, her nose, anywhere he could reach while avoiding her mouth. She had to giggle weakly at that. It had once been something she did to him. Not kissing him on the lips until he deserved it, earned it. Whether that be taking her out for the night, or simply getting him to eat a decent meal. Seemed it worked well for getting her to stop crying as well.

She buried her face in his shoulder once more, not wanting him to kiss her until she confessed everything, “I worked for him. Helped him maintain contacts with various criminals. Basically I was his secretary. I was one of the lucky ones. He never touched me. It was a long time until I found out why.

“He’d done research on me, Sherlock. Looked up all my known contacts, family, everything. He knew…he knew about you. About how clever you are and how…how much I love you. He wanted to use me to get to you. To get you to join him…Then he was to kill me. He wouldn’t need me if he had you. You were the prize. I was just a means to an end.”

She drew in a shuddering breath, “It’s all my fault. He knows all about you because of me. I betrayed you.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” he whispered hoarsely. “You could have told me…”

She shook her head, “I couldn’t give him more of a reason to come after you. I ran, hoping without me he wouldn’t have any way to get to you. It seemed to work. But I’ve been following that blog Dr. Watson writes. He got to you anyway. The Great Game.”

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, his arms banding around her tighter than ever as if he could shield her from whatever forces were coming for them, “Moriarty.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted. “If I came out of hiding, he’d just kill me before I could warn you about what he’s capable of. I couldn’t stand up to him. I’m not strong enough, not powerful enough. But then I ran in to someone…who was. She helped me escape and go even deeper underground.”

“Who?” he asked hesitantly.

“Me,” a familiar voice called from the doorway. Heels clicked against the flagstone balcony as she approached them, silk skirts rustling as she sat down at their feet, no room on the chaise. Kate titled her head to be able to smile at the one she now called sister. Irene grinned back before turning back to the only many present.

“Hello, Sherlock.”

“Irene Adler,” he drawled, still holding Kate protectively. “What _exactly_ do you have to do with this?”

“I ran into to Kate in Alaska,” she grimaced at the memory. “And recognized her from the research I had done on you during that whole…Scandal. I cornered her and convinced her that I was a friend. We decided two heads were far better than one and partnered up.”

“Partnered up?” his eyes narrowed, shooting from one woman to the other. “Doing what, exactly? Caitlyn?”

She let out a slow breath, keeping eye contact with Sherlock and letting him slowly work it out on his own. She watched his eyes clear of confusion and grow wide as saucers.

“Oh. Oh!” he gasped. “Of course! The deaths! The unexplained murders! The only connection was through their old lives of crime. Each man had once been an well-known but never proven assassin. Oh! All over there’s been unsolved deaths of criminals. All over Europe, Asia…”

“The Americas,” Irene finished and nodded with a little smirk. “That’s us. Well, me. I wouldn’t let my little sister dirty her hands like that.” She reached up an squeezed Kate’s had fondly. “But she is awfully good at research. Even better than I am, and that’s without any contacts.”

Sherlock smirked proudly for a moment before blinking in confusion again, “Little sister?”

“It’s just a nickname, Sherlock,” Kate smiled, running a hand through his unruly curls. “We’ve had to trust each other explicitly. We’ve sort of formed a sisterly bond.”

“Much like you and Dr. Watson.” Irene grinned.

Sherlock spared her one withering look before turning back to his beloved. They stared at each other for a few long moments and he cupped her cheeks gently in his hands. Nervously, she began to nibble on her bottom lip, anxious to know what was going on through that big, beautiful mind of his.

“Tell me,” he whispered, all but forgetting Irene was still there. “Tell me I get to keep you.”

Tears began leaking out of her eyes, though happy tears now. Those same words he had said the night he proposed sent a shock through her heart and guilt clawing up her throat. She pushed it down for now as she mirrored his position, cupping his face in her gloved hands.

“Always.”

She barely got the word out before his lips descended onto hers, crushing their mouths together in a bruising kiss. She whimpered, tangling her hands in his hair in a feeble attempt to bring him closer. He tasted the same, she marveled as her tongue traced his full bottom lip. Like cherries and an chocolate and something sinful. He tasted like _Sherlock_.

His thumbs gently caressed her cheekbones, swiping away the wayward tears as he broke the kiss, both breathing heavy. Kate leaned her forehead against his, eyes closed as she committed this moment to memory. It would be the only thing keeping her sane, keeping her moving forward, for quite some time.

Shouts of alarm finally broke through their personal bubble and Kate became aware of Irene tugging on her arm, urging her away.

“No,” Sherlock breathed heartbrokenly. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice cracked. Irene gently pulled her to her feet, dragging her to the stairs that led down to the garden, away from the party goers. “Moriarty is still out there. It’s not safe. I’m sorry!”

He reached out, grabbing her hand in a death grip and yanking her out of Irene’s hold. He grasped her face between his palms and pressed his lips to hers once more, pouring every ounce of love and devotion and sorrow he felt into that one contact. She whimpered when she was again forcibly torn from him. She turned away, unable to look at his crushed expression a moment longer as Irene pulled her to their waiting car.


End file.
